


Dream Catcher

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams and Nightmares, Enhanced Senses, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, M/M, Secret Identity Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Matt has nightmares, so does Foggy. Unfortunately, Matt has a lot of nightmares. Even when he's not asleep.</p><p>Or: Matt visits Foggy after the bombings, and it doesn't go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Catcher

Matt has nightmares. Matt has _a lot_ of nightmares.

 

Foggy wakes up when Matt whimpers—Matt never screams after a nightmare, even when it sounds like he wants to. After a moment Foggy hears Matt’s horrible mattress creak when Matt sits up.

 

“Again?” Foggy asks quietly, turning over so he can look at Matt. Matt’s got his arms wrapped around his knees and is staring into space. His face in sweaty, and his hair is all over the place from his tossing and turning.

 

“Sorry.” Matt whispers back. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

 

Foggy shakes head even though he’s absolutely exhausted and rolls over onto his elbow.

 

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” He lies. Matt snorts weakly.

 

“Liar.” He accuses, and Foggy laughs.

 

“How do you know? I’m a very good liar.” Matt makes a strange little sound, almost a tiny laugh but a little too bitter.

 

“You’re _really_ not.” He says, and there’s a knowing edge to his voice. Foggy shrugs, because it’s true—at least around Matt. Matt can always tell when Foggy’s lying, somehow. He doesn’t always call him out on it, but his smile fades a little every time Foggy does it. It hurts to see.

 

Foggy doesn’t lie to Matt very often.

 

“Whatever. I’m awake now.” He says, and he only yawns a little as he’s saying it. “You wanna talk about it?” Matt snorts.

 

“God, no.” Yikes, taking the Lord’s name in vain. Not a good sign.

 

“Okay…” Foggy agrees reluctantly. He looks carefully at Matt, who has circles under his eyes and a pale cast to his skin. Matt never sleeps _well,_ but he hasn't slept much _at all_ this week, nightmares waking him (and Foggy) up several times a night. Foggy wants to help, to listen and comfort.

 

But Matt never wants to talk about it.

 

“We should sleep together.” Foggy blurts out, and then realizes how bad that sounds. Sure, he totally wants to sleep with Matt in pretty much every sense of the word, but he knows better than to open that can of worms. Matt is, as far as Foggy can tell, completely straight; he’s also Foggy’s best friend, and dating best friends does not always work out so well, especially when said best friends are completely straight.

 

Matt is staring at him, looking completely bewildered.

_“What?”_

 

“Not that way!” Foggy hurries to reassure him. “Geez, Murdock, get your mind out of the gutter.” Like Foggy can talk. His mind is so constantly and deeply in the gutter when it comes to Matt, he’s on first name basis with the mutant sewer gators of dirty thoughts. “I just mean sleeping-sleeping.” Matt still looks baffled, and now more than a little wary.

 

“…Why?” He asks suspiciously. Foggy needs to backpedal out of this situation as quickly as he can, so he keeps talking.

 

“My sister had nightmares a lot.” He explains. “When they got bad, she’d sleep in my bed with me. She said it helped. Apparently I’m a walking dream catcher.” He shrugs. “Somehow I doubt your nightmares involve clown cars and balloon animals, but it might help you too.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Matt says, and it’s clear he’s trying to say no as politely as he can without making it awkward.

 

 _Too bad, Murdock._ Foggy thinks firmly. _It’s already awkward, and if I’m going to be humiliating myself tonight, it might as well be worth it._

“Look, I’m not going to grope you or anything.” Foggy tells him, exasperated. _No matter how much I may want to._ “But I don’t see the harm in just trying it. If it doesn’t work, you get back in your own bed and we never speak of it again. But if it does…” He shrugs. “Then we know.”

 

Matt looks incredibly guarded. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s frowning.

 

“Foggy…” Matt says slowly. “I don’t think…” He doesn’t appear to know how to finish that thought. Foggy decides that rational arguments are not going to work here, and instead decides to ruthlessly exploit Matt’s selflessness. He only feels a little guilty, because Foggy doesn’t have nearly as many morals as Matt does.

 

“Come on, Matt. I’m doing this for me too. I need a little more than three hours of sleep a night.”

 

It’s for Matt’s own good, Foggy reminds himself when Matt winces.

 

“I’m sorry. I can get up, maybe go out when it happens…” He starts, and Foggy snorts.

 

“And what, wander aimlessly around campus until you fall into a ditch?” He rolls his eyes. “No, Matt, you do not need to leave. Even if you don’t want to try this, you are staying.” When Matt continues looking incredibly unhappy, Foggy sighs gustily and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, if it gets _really_ bad, I can go crash with Marci. She won’t mind.” Actually, she probably will mind, and will also have Foggy repay her with sexual favors. But there’s no way he’s telling Matt that. “But we should try this first.”

 

Matt looks unsure, but the guilt trip appears to be working its magic.

 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He says quietly, and Foggy chuckles.

 

“You’re not going to make me uncomfortable. I’m the one that offered, remember?” Matt looks uncertain. “Seriously. Just try it this once.”

 

Matt licks his lips once, a nervous gesture, but he’s already tensing to get up.

 

“Just this once.” He agrees firmly, and then he’s climbing into bed beside Foggy. The bed’s narrow, a typical uncomfortable dorm-style mattress; even if they were lying as far as they could from each other, they’d still be touching.

 

Matt stays on top of the covers, and Foggy’s tucked under them, so it’s not as intimate as it could be. It’s still pretty intimate. Matt’s warm against him, even through the blankets, and Foggy can feel the firmness of his muscles. Matt’s probably more in shape than Foggy is, going to the gym every day and proving more than once to Foggy that he’s startlingly good at boxing.

 

Matt’s also stiff as a board. Foggy pokes him in the side.

 

“Relax, Matt.” He orders gently. “It’s just sleeping.” Matt relaxes slowly, obviously expending a lot of energy in the process to keep himself from tensing up again immediately.

 

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” Matt admits softly. “It feels a little weird.”

 

Foggy’s not surprised. Matt is seriously hot, and Foggy knows that he spends a decent amount of time with the fairer sex, but he always comes back to their room afterwards, even if it’s close to morning. He thinks Matt’s just not the cuddling type, which makes the fact that Matt’s even willing to try this pretty impressive.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s not that hard. You just close your eyes and think happy thoughts--you know, pixie dust. That’s what the other person’s there for. They’re something to focus on. You know, sound, feeling, that sort of thing.”

 

“Sound.” Matt repeats to himself. “Okay. So I can just… listen?”

 

“Yup.” Foggy confirms. “You just listen, and think about the other person being there. It’s supposed to be a safety thing, sort of subconscious; you trust the person to take care of you when you need it, and hopefully that transfers over to your dreams.” 

 

“Alright.” Matt agrees tentatively. “I can do that.” He shifts a little closer. “Thank you for doing this.” He says quietly, and Foggy yawns and smiles.

 

“No problem, buddy. I hope it works.” He yawns again. “I’m going to try sleeping again. Wake me up if you need me, okay?" He’s got his eyes closed, but he hears the pillowcase rustle as Matt nods. “Cool. Night, Matt.”

 

He feels Matt’s hand brush against his, and he’s sure if it’s on purpose or not.

 

“…Goodnight.” Matt says, and Foggy only has a moment to think that Matt’s voice sounds a little funny before he’s out like a light.

 

* * *

 

When Foggy wakes up and tries to sit up, he finds that it’s impossible. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s because Matt’s behind him, arm slung over Foggy’s waist and snoring just slightly. Foggy didn’t even know that Matt snored; it’s impossible to hear from across the room, but when he’s this close Foggy can catch it, little huffs and puffs of breath. It’s kind of adorable. When Foggy shifts, the snores stop abruptly.

 

“Sorry.” Matt says, already moving back, and Foggy places his hand over where Matt’s arm is resting against his hip, keeping it there.

 

“It’s fine.” He promises. Actually, it’s pretty awesome, and since Matt’s behind him Foggy can enjoy it without having to worry about Matt knowing exactly _how_ awesome it is. “What time is it?” He feels Matt shift a little to run his fingers over his watch. It's a tactile one, Braille dots and numbers that Matt can feel. Foggy had bought it for Matt's birthday after a good amount of Googling, and he'd even shelled out a ridiculous amount of extra money to get Matt's name engraved on the back. It had pretty much emptied his bank account, but he doesn't regret it for a moment.

 

Matt never takes it off.

 

“Ten o’clock in the morning.” Matt says, sounding awed. “We slept for nine hours.”

 

“Thank god it’s the weekend.” Foggy states, and pats Matt’s arm. “So, good dreams?” Matt sighs, breath ruffling Foggy’s hair.

 

“Very good.” He agrees contentedly, sounding dozy. “And I am behind on a week’s worth of sleep, so I’m going back to going back to making up for lost time.” He stiffens slightly. “If… if you’re alright with that.” Foggy rolls his eyes and pats Matt’s arm again.

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m behind on a week’s worth of sleep too.” He smiles. “Dream on, Murdock. And I mean that literally.” He closes his eyes again, already halfway asleep. He should probably be feeling awkward right now, but Matt resting against him feels even better than Foggy had thought it would. Natural, safe, warm.

 

“Okay.” Matt agrees, squeezing Foggy’s hip. “Hey, Foggy?” Foggy hums. “Thank you.” Foggy smiles drowsily.

 

“Sweet dreams, Matt.”

 

* * *

 

It becomes a habit. About once a month, sometimes more, Matt ends up sleeping in Foggy’s bed. It’s always Foggy’s bed—Matt says it’s more comfortable than his, and Foggy doesn’t mind so he doesn’t point out that the mattresses are exactly the same, squeaky springs and all.

 

Foggy offers the first few times, because Matt seems hesitant to, but after a few months Matt climbs in all on his own. In fact, sometimes Foggy doesn’t even notice. He only knows Matt’s there when he wakes up in the morning and feels Matt’s arms around him.

 

When they’re lying on their sides, Matt’s always behind him. He is an inch taller and Foggy is delightfully squishable, so it’s not completely weird that he wants to be the big spoon, but Foggy thinks it’s more than that. He thinks that maybe, sometimes, Matt needs something to hold onto. Matt doesn’t let himself hold onto much, his side of the room Spartan and plain like he doesn’t see the point of having nice things. But Matt holds onto Foggy, so when Foggy wakes up and feels Matt holding him tighter than normal, he tugs Matt even closer and doesn’t say a word.

 

He's scared that one day, Matt will let go.

 

“Go back to sleep.” Matt whispers softly, lips brushing against his temple, and Foggy does.

 

* * *

  

Foggy wakes up in the hospital to the feeling of something behind him, watching. It’s warm, wrapped around his chest and trapping his arms, breathing quietly into his ear. This should possibly be quite terrifying, but Foggy knows this warm something better than just about anything else in the world.

 

“Matt?” He whispers groggily, and Matt hums a sound of agreement and tightens his arms briefly around Foggy, tugging him back more firmly into Matt’s chest. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that normal people do not climb into their friend’s _hospital bed_ while their friend is _asleep_ and start _cuddling_ them. Dorm rooms are one thing, but in public, where anyone could walk in?

 

Foggy supposes he only has himself to blame for conditioning Matt into doing this.

 

Matt hasn’t done this in years, and Foggy hasn’t offered. It’s one thing to walk a few feet to each other’s beds, but another thing entirely to walk a few blocks. There’s no way he could suggest it without Matt knowing something was up. If Matt offered, Foggy would say yes in a second, but Matt never asks.

  

He mentions once that he’s found a new outlet for the nightmares, but he never says what it is, just gets a strange little smile on his face and changes the subject.

 

Apparently whatever Matt’s new outlet is, it’s not working anymore.

 

“How’d you get in?” He asks, because there’s no way it’s still visiting hours. Matt shrugs.

 

“Nurses like me.” He offers casually without lifting his head, and Foggy scoffs even as he shivers, because Matt’s still murmuring into his ear, everything he says. His voice is low and just a little wet where his breath hits Foggy’s skin, and Foggy thinks he might feel just the slightest brush of Matt’s lips against the shell of his ear when he speaks.

 

“Everyone likes you, Matt. Nutcases, the lot of them.” He says hoarsely. Foggy doesn’t say that he is one of those nutcases—hell, that he’s the _king_ of those nutcases. Matt chuckles, which rumbling against Foggy’s ear is… distracting. Still, Matt won’t move. Foggy’s a little worried. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Matt murmurs quietly. He squeezes Foggy gently. “ _You_ okay?” Foggy snorts softly.

 

“Other than the hole in my side? Yeah, I’m good.” Matt makes a distressed sound, and Foggy sighs. “I’m fine, Matt. Everything’s fine.”

 

“Okay.” Matt says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes him. In fact…

 

“You’re shaking.” Foggy murmurs, turning over to get a look at Matt’s face, trying to see what’s going on with him—no, he starts to turn over, but Matt’s arms tighten around him and keep him where he is. “Matt, you giant octopus, I want to move.”

 

“Don’t.” Matt says immediately, and there’s something odd in his voice. Foggy tries to move again and Matt squeezes even harder. “Foggy, don’t.” Matt begs. “I don’t want you to… to pull your stitches.”

 

“They’re fine.” Foggy protests. “They’re tiny. They don’t even hurt.” He tries yet again to turn over, and when Matt squeezes this time it almost hurts. He’s very careful, doesn’t bump Foggy’s stitches at all, but it still almost hurts.

 

“Don’t.” Matt says again, and his voice is sterner now. It’s a command, not a request. Foggy stiffens.

 

“Matt. Let me go. Now.” He orders sharply. Matt shakes his head. “You’re not going to let me go?” He checks, just to be sure. Matt shakes his head again. “Well, then. I suppose you deserve this.”

 

He jabs his elbow back into Matt’s stomach. Hard.

 

Matt yelps and his hold loosens for a second. It’s not long enough for Foggy to get away, but he’s not trying to. He just wants to turn around and look at Matt and find out what the hell is going on…

 

Well, he can see why Matt might have been a little concerned about him looking. The guy’s a mess.

 

“Is that _plaster dust?”_ Foggy asks incredulously. “Do you have _plaster dust_ in your hair?” He reaches out and runs a hand through Matt’s hair to check. “What, did a roof fall on you?” Matt stiffens minutely, shaking his head.

 

“No. The ceilings were shaking; some probably just dislodged.”

 

“Huh.” Foggy says, rubbing the dust between his fingers. He works a lot with plaster during his home improvement kicks, and now that he’s looking more closely, it doesn’t look like the standard stuff you use on ceilings and walls. No, it’s rougher somehow, grayer, more like…

 

“Concrete.” He murmurs. “You have _concrete_ in your hair. And… and is that _sawdust?”_ Without asking for permission, he runs his hand through Matt’s hair again. Yup, definitely sawdust. Sawdust and concrete and something sticky, making the two powders gum together…

 

“Blood. Oh my god, Matt. You’ve got blood in your hair.” Foggy exclaims, horrified.

 

 Matt goes completely tense this time, and begins to pull away, fast, like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid.

 

Foggy’s the one who’s not letting go this time, because if he lets Matt go, the guy’s going to disappear, and probably gaslight Foggy later into thinking this was all a dream. That cannot happen, because something is screaming inside Foggy that this is _important_ , this is _huge,_ and for some reason he doesn’t know yet, Matt’s got _blood_ in his hair. That _terrifies_ Foggy.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Matt says, completely inanely. Foggy huffs out a breath of sharp laughter.

 

“Okay, no. You bleeding enough to get it in your hair is pretty damn worrying, Matt.” Foggy tells him frankly. “It means either you have a head injury that you’re not telling me about, or someone else was bleeding on your head. Neither is an attractive option.”

 

“There were lots of other injured people, Foggy. One of them probably…” Matt protests weakly, because there’s really no way that someone climbed on top of Matt’s head in order to bleed on him, just for funsies. Foggy shushes him, gathering the facts.

 

“So, you were bleeding or being bled on somewhere with concrete and sawdust. This does not sound normal, even for tonight.” Foggy licks his lips nervously. “Matt, where the hell were you? Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

 

“I just didn’t have it on me.” Matt claims quickly, and Foggy shakes his head.

 

“No, you always have your phone. I’ve never seen you without it. Of course, I’ve never seen you bleeding out under concrete and sawdust either, so…I ask again, where were you?”

 

“Nowhere!” Matt tells him, and he’s just desperate enough that his I’m-a-lawyer-trust-me-voice doesn’t work. “Foggy, you’re out of it from the medicine, you’re confused. It’s just regular plaster, and I must have cut my head on something, don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt, and I don’t have a concussion. Let it go, get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” And the gaslighting begins.

 

“So where were you?” Foggy asks again, not deterred. Matt doesn’t even hesitate, which after his earlier prevarication is even more suspicious.

 

“At my apartment.” He says, matter-of-fact. Foggy laughs a little harshly.

 

“Right. So if I go over there right now, I’ll see plaster dust all over the place like snow on Christmas morning?”

 

“Yes.” Matt declares confidently, and then ruins any credence his claim might have held by adding, “But you can’t check right now because you have to stay in the hospital.” The triumphant upturn of his lips falls when Foggy shrugs.

 

“I’ll ask Karen.” He reaches towards his phone and is not surprised when Matt grabs it. How he knew where Foggy’s phone was is anyone’s guess. It’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened tonight.

 

“We shouldn’t bother her this late.” Matt scolds him. When Foggy reaches for the phone, Matt actually _throws it across the room._ By some miracle it lands on the pile of towels and linens the nurses put there, safe and sound, but…

 

“What the hell was that, Murdock?” Foggy yelps. “Blind guys do not get to hurl other people’s valuable projectiles around while they’re having a hissy fit!”

 

“Your phone’s fine.” Matt reassures him quickly. “And you need to rest. That means no playing Angry Birds when you should be sleeping.”

 

“Oh, believe me, I am angry enough for _all_ the birds.” Foggy assures him darkly. “So, let’s review. You were out of your apartment during a _terrorist attack,_ wandering around somewhere where concrete and sawdust make their home—what, a sawmill, a construction site?—and while there, you somehow managed to get brained, bleeding all over your hair, and/or you managed to get someone _else’s_ blood in your hair—what, your attacker’s?” He shakes his head. “Tell me what’s going on, Matt.”

 

He goes to cross his arms, which leads him to remember that he and Matt are still curled around each other like vines. This whole time, neither one has let go; even when Matt chucked his phone across the room, he kept one arm firmly around Foggy. Foggy thinks about pulling away for a moment, but Matt’s stretched back enough that Foggy can see his face and Matt looks like he might not survive it. He looks so fragile.

 

“I was in my apartment.” Matt repeats, but he says it dully. He knows that Foggy doesn’t believe him, but instead of telling him the truth he’s lying here and pretending, pretending…

 

“Do you not trust me anymore, Matt?” Foggy whispers, and he hates how his voice cracks. “Why don’t you trust me anymore?”

 

“I do, Foggy!” Matt swears avidly. “I trust you—I trust you more than anyone.”

 

“Just not enough to tell me the truth.” Foggy finishes softly. Matt flinches, and Foggy swallows. Matt looks so beaten down, and he’s got blood in his hair and Foggy gets a horrible, horrible thought.

 

“Matt, are you in trouble?” He asks tremulously. “You look like you got in a fight. You look like you’ve gotten in a lot of fights lately, and there are only so many times you can hit your face on a doorknob. Just… is someone hurting you? Or… or making you fight? For them?”

 

He remembers Matt telling him once, huddled against Foggy’s side in the dark hush of the night, about his father. Battling Jack Murdock. Jack had been a fighter, and Foggy knows he taught Matt a lot before he died. Foggy knows Matt's _good_  at fighting, a little too good for someone who claims to be a pacifist. A natural warrior. Jack had fought for money, because he thought he had no choice. He’d gotten in too deep, and it had cost him his life. What if Matt…

 

“Foggy, no. No one’s making me do anything.” Matt promises, and he sounds honest, but he’s been lying all night. Why stop now?

 

“Because if someone is, I can help. We can throw the book at them, Matt, put them away and—“

 

“There’s no one, Foggy.” Matt tells him again, fervently. “I swear, no one’s making me do anything I don’t want to.”

 

“Then why…?” Foggy doesn’t know where to start. Why is Matt hurt all the time, why is he not answering his phone, why does he have blood on him and _why_ is that not a big deal to him? “Matt, please. Let me help you.”

 

“I don’t need your help!” Matt snaps, and he sounds almost angry. “I need you to stay out of it!” There's a hint of desperation now.

 

“Hell no!” Foggy snaps back, because guess what, Murdock? He’s pretty angry too. Floaty and sleepy from the drugs, sure, but also pretty darned pissed. “You’re my best friend, Matt, and something’s hurting you. I’m not going to stop until you tell me what it is and we take it on. Together. Nelson and Murdock, remember? We’re partners. That means we work together.”

 

“We’re _business_ partners, Foggy.” Matt reminds him coolly. “What I do outside of the office is none of your business.”

 

Foggy feels a little like he just got stabbed through with shrapnel again. All the breath leaves him for a moment, and pain blooms behind his ribs.

 

“Business partners.” He repeats faintly. “That’s all we are, huh?” Matt makes a frustrated noise.

 

“No, that’s not what I—You’re my best friend, too, but there are some things that I need to keep private. Even from you.” He runs a hand through his dirty hair before curling it back around Foggy’s waist. “You have secrets too. We all do.”

 

“No, I don’t. Not from you.” Foggy tells him, quiet and sure, and that seems to hit Matt hard, because all the righteous anger drains out of him and he slumps back against Foggy, head falling forward so that their foreheads touch for a moment.

 

“Yeah.” He murmurs softly. “I know.” He smiles mirthlessly. “I wish you did, sometimes. That way it would be fair.”

 

“Matt…” Foggy starts carefully, and Matt stops him, squeezing his hip gently.

 

“Please, just… not tonight? I just need to pretend everything’s okay, for a little bit.”

 

There are dark circles under Matt’s eyes and a long scratch on his forehead and plaster dust still in his hair. He looks half-dead and haunted, and something is so terribly wrong here that it makes Foggy feel sick.

 

“Just tonight.” He swallows. “I’m not giving up on this, Matt. Just tonight.” He hates himself for it, but he wants to pretend that everything’s okay for a while too.

 

“Thank you.” Matt murmurs reverently, and he holds on to Foggy so hard it hurts and tucks his face into Foggy’s shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

Foggy doesn’t know what he’d do without Matt either, and it’s looking like he’s got a lot more reason to worry than Matt does. But he promised not to do this tonight, so instead he just hugs Matt back and says softly,

 

“Me too, buddy. I’m glad you came.”

 

He tries to sleep. Matt’s asleep after a minute or two, it’s clear by his little snores and huffs, but Foggy feels the blood from Matt’s hair, _Matt’s blood,_ itching on his palm and he just. Can’t.

 

He opens his eyes and looks down at Matt’s rat nest of hair. He’s going to be spending an hour picking all the stuff out of it, Foggy thinks. There’s no mess on Matt’s clothes, so he must have changed on the way here. Changed, but no time to shower. He’d been desperate enough to see Foggy that he hadn’t bothered. Why had changing been so important?

 

Matt has blood on his hair. How much blood had been on his clothes?

 

Foggy forcefully turns his eyes away from Matt’s hair. Not tonight, not tonight…

 

He needs something to distract himself, so he looks up at the TV. It’s been on the whole time, the only source of any real light in the room, washing everything in it with a blue glow. Foggy and Karen had been watching the news to check for any developments on the bombings, but Foggy had fallen asleep a few hours ago and hadn’t seen more than the barest details.

 

The anchorwoman is still talking about it. The TV’s on mute, but there is a bar of text running along the bottom of the screen, closed captions detailing everything being said.

 

 _Footage catching the bomber at the scene of the crime,_ the woman says, and she’s frowning but Foggy can tell she’s gleeful about the whole thing. Reporters and their stories—they’re worse than lawyers sometimes.

 

That’s definitely new. When he’d fallen asleep, they were still tallying injuries and casualties. Everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and people were speculating like crazy about who was behind the bombs. Al-Qaeda? Arsonists? Aliens? Apparently something big happened while Foggy was asleep, because the woman looks excited but not surprised. The footage isn’t new, but it’s still hot.

 

She gestures to an unseen assistant, and the footage rolls for what must be the dozenth time.

 

There’s a guy, built like a boxer and dressed all in black. He’s running around on the grainy footage, doing backflips and front flips and kicking the shit out of the guys on the screen. According to the captions, he’d gone after cops, which just adds a whole new level of trouble.

 

Foggy remembers Karen talking about her Man in the Mask, the man who saved her life. If this is the same Man in the Mask Karen was talking about, she’s lucky the guy didn’t kill her. Foggy looks closer. The man _isn’t_ , Foggy reflects, aiming to kill. He’s obviously trained, hitting joints, pressure points—he knows where everything is, but he’s not hitting the other guys in a way they can’t come back from. Sure, they’ll need extensive physical therapy (and probably some psychological therapy too), but they can recover given enough time.

 

It doesn’t gel with this idea of a psychotic, mass-murdering bomber hell-bent on burning as much of Hell’s Kitchen to the ground as he can. Still, this guy is obviously Bad News. No one goes running around in a mask and beating up cops unless they’re got some serious screws loose. The man’s clearly crazy; Foggy wouldn’t want to touch this guy with a ten-foot pole.

 

 _Editing and technological expertise offer a closer look at the terrorist’s identity,_ the captions read. _Officials hope that this will provide a better chance at catching this criminal before he strikes again._

 

The video freezes, and then dilates and focuses on the Man in the Mask. His face comes into focus.

 

Foggy isn't sure he would have recognized that mouth if he hadn't seen it a minute ago, smiling shy and sweet at him and whispering 'thank you'. But he did and he does, and he thinks his heart may actually stop for a second.

 

“No.”

 

“Mm.” Matt hums sleepily, shifting a little and running a hand down Foggy’s back. “Did you say something?”

 

“No.” Foggy says again, staring at the TV screen in horror. “Nonononononono.”

 

“Foggy?” Matt sounds concerned now, pulling back enough that he can turn his face up towards Foggy. “What’s wrong? Do I need to call the nurse?”

 

Foggy can’t breathe.

 

“Please, no.” He whispers, reaching out. He sees Matt stiffen when Foggy’s fingers brush against his face, but he doesn’t pull away. _“Please_ , no.” He lets one of his hands cover Matt’s eyes, until it looks like…

 

Like he’s wearing a mask.

 

Matt’s lips part, and Foggy hears the quick inhale of breath that means Matt’s figured it out.

 

“Foggy…” Matt whispers, and Foggy laughs brokenly.

 

“You’re a TV star, Matty.”

 

“No, no.” Matt scrambles with one hand until he finds the remote, and then he smashes button after button trying to find the right one.

 

“—DUBBED ‘THE DEVIL OF HELL’S KITCHEN' BY THE MEDIA AND HIS VICTIMS—“ The reporter fairly screams when Matt accidentally increases the volume. Matt curses and hits another button that only serves to get rid of the subtitles. “IF YOU SEE THIS MAN, PLEASE CALL AUTHORITIES IMMEDIATELY AND DO NOT ENGAGE. THE SUSPECT IS KNOWN TO BE VIOLENT AND UNSTABLE.”

 

Violent and unstable. Jesus.

 

Matt’s fingers brush perilously close to the nurse call button in his desperate search for the volume control. Foggy watches numbly for a moment. He knows that if the nurses come in, he can call for help. He’s sure now that Matt isn’t supposed to be here, he didn’t charm the nurses at all. If the nurses see him, they’ll call security and take Matt away. Matt, who is the Man in the Mask, who is ruthlessly taking out half a dozen police officers right before Foggy’s eyes. Matt who lied. Matt who’s still lying.

 

Foggy gently slips the remote from Matt’s hand and hits the power button. The sudden lack of sound echoes, and the room is plunged into darkness.

 

“Did they hurt you?” Foggy asks dully. Matt makes a questioning, desperate noise. “They had guns. You didn’t.”

 

Matt, after a moment of frozen stillness, shakes his head. Foggy nods slowly.

 

“No concrete.” He notes dimly. “No sawdust. You went somewhere else after.” He remembers a snippet of the earlier reports, and trepidation fills him. “The hostages. Matt.”

 

“They weren’t hostages!” Matt tells him hastily. “I didn’t hurt any of them more than I had to.”

 

“Had to.” Foggy repeats. “How much did you ‘ _have to’_ hurt them, Matt?”

 

“Just enough to stop them hurting me.” Matt offers softly. “That’s all.”

 

“And whose blood is in your hair?” Foggy feels sick. Matt exhales shakily.

 

“I don’t… I don’t know. It could be a lot of people’s.” Well, at least Matt is being honest about _something_ , even if the truth makes Foggy feel more ill than the lies did _._ “Most of it is probably mine.” He offers hopefully, like this makes it better.

 

“But you _are_ okay?” Foggy asks, because as angry and betrayed as he feels right now, Matt’s still his best friend and he cares about the idiot. Matt nods, eyes beseeching.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a few scratches.” He promises, and it’s only when Foggy pulls away to check that he realizes Matt _still_ hasn’t let him go. In fact, when he feels Foggy start to move, Matt uses both of his arms to crush Foggy to him. “Don’t. _Please_.”

 

It takes Foggy a moment to realize that Matt’s afraid he’s going to _run._

 

“Matt.” He chides, and Matt shakes his head, pulling Foggy impossibly closer. Their noses are close to brushing. If Foggy were to lean in, just an inch, their lips could be brushing too. “Matt.”

 

Matt’s eyes are wide and terrified.

 

“Just give me a chance to explain!” Matt begs, and it sounds like he's saying a prayer. “I promise, it’s not what you think.”

 

“I think,” Foggy says slowly, considering his words, “that there is a lot you’re not telling me. I think that you’ve lied to me, lied a lot. I think you put on a mask. I think you go out at night, and you fight people. You hurt them. That’s that I think. Am I wrong, Matt?”

 

Matt’s mouth is trembling. There are tears welling in his eyes, and when he closes his eyes and shakes his head, they spill down his cheeks. He keeps shaking his head until Foggy reaches up and presses a hand against his cheek, keeping his face still.

 

“And I think,” Foggy continues quietly, “that you are the smartest, sweetest person I know, and if you are doing these things, I think you have a reason.” He strokes Matt’s cheek gently. “ _Am I wrong,_ _Matt_?”

 

Matt shatters.

 

“I don’t know.” He gasps out, and it sounds like it hurts. He’s shaking so hard that Foggy worries he’ll break apart. Foggy presses them closer so that their foreheads are resting together, and as tightly as he clutches at Matt, Matt holds him ten times tighter. Matt’s stronger than Foggy thinks, he reminds himself, and he makes himself relax into the hold until it’s not as painful. “I don’t know.”

 

“Okay.” Foggy tells him. “It’s okay if you don’t know, Matt, because I _do._ I _know_ you.”

 

Matt pulls away, but he has one hand fisted in Foggy’s hair and he grasps it a little too tightly, making Foggy wince. Matt’s usually so careful, so soft in his touches. Foggy had thought he’d been cautious about the world, but now he thinks Matt was cautious about himself. Giving too much away.

 

“Don’t you want to ask about the bombs? If I planted them?” Matt goads shamelessly, voice thick, and Foggy huffs a small sound of offended humor.

 

“Matt, I may have bought a lot of lies you’ve sold me, but there is no universe in which I’d believe you planted those bombs.”

 

“I didn’t _want_ to lie to you.” Matt denies. “God, I hated lying to you.” He whispers to Foggy fiercely. “But I didn’t know you at first, so it didn’t seem to matter, and then when it _did_ matter… I was so scared what you’d think. I just couldn’t.”

 

“Wait.” Foggy mutters to himself. “Does that mean you’ve been running around in a mask since we met?”

 

Matt freezes.

 

“Uh.” He says. “Yes?”

 

Foggy pokes him.

 

“Okay, we are not back to playing the lying game. You lost, remember?” Matt says nothing. “If you weren’t talking about the mask thing, what were you hiding when we met? Your name _is_ Matthew Murdock, right?”

 

“It’s Matthew Murdock.” Matt agrees, and then offers nothing more. Foggy thinks for a moment.

 

“It’s not like I had any preconceived notions for you to lie about. I mean, first three things I knew about you: Matt, cute, blind.” Matt flinches. “No.” Foggy breathes, horrified. “Matt, you’re blind. You read Braille, you wear ugly ties, you let me lead you around Hell’s Kitchen like I’m your guide dog! Tell me you’re blind.”

 

He’d honestly never thought he’d ever say that to Matt. It feels awful, hoping that his friend is blind, but the alternative is that his friend has been impersonating a blind man for years and letting Foggy make a fool of himself.

 

“I am blind.” Matt assures him quickly. “I can’t see the way you do.”

 

“But you _can_ see.” Foggy clarifies, reading between the lines. “You see something.”

 

“My other senses,” Matt begins haltingly. “They work together, make a picture in my head. It’s not perfect, nothing like I remember sight being. I can’t see colors or details, only basic shapes. But it’s… it’s something.” He agrees with Foggy’s earlier diagnosis.

 

Matt can see. Foggy is reeling.

 

“Can you see me? Right now?” He asks, and Matt hesitates. “It’s okay, Matt. You can tell me.”

 

“I can see your face,” Matt explains softly, unsure, “but I can’t tell what it looks like. I can’t see if you’re frowning or smiling, or what your eyes look like right now, or… or anything that I want to know, really. I just see a shape. A single flame in a world on fire.”

 

“A world on fire?” Foggy asks incredulously. “What does that even _mean?”_ Matt shrugs uselessly. Foggy rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s helpful, thanks. “ He considers Matt’s words carefully. "Okay, fire, fire…It sounds sort of like infrared, but if it was infrared you’d just have said that, right? You wouldn’t have started reciting poetry.” Matt looks incredibly shifty. “Wow, okay. I guess you would.”

 

“So you believe me?” Matt asks, ignoring the jibe at his flowery metaphors. Foggy laughs a little desperately.

 

“Well, it’s either that or you’re entirely crazy, and I’d sort of prefer the first one.” He says, and then he needs to deflect because Foggy’s not sure that Matt’s _isn’t_ entirely crazy, and he doesn’t want to think about it. Foggy clears his throat. “So, a flame, huh? I guess that must mean you think I’m pretty hot.”

 

Matt snorts, which shouldn’t be as charming as it is at close range.

 

“Very hot, Mr. Nelson.” He assures Foggy, and then his smile softens. “Actually, you look different than most people. I’m not sure if it’s just a matter of body chemistry or if my head just… colors you in differently. But you look different than other people do.” When Foggy makes in inquiring noise, Matt struggles on. “I don’t know, sort of… brighter? Like, a halo. It’s… distinctive.” He laughs lowly. “Distracting,” he adds in a wry murmur, like it’s an inside joke he has with himself.

 

“Oh. Good?” Foggy tries to say confidently, but it comes out as more of a squeak. “That’s cool. Uh, so you’re the only blind—ish—guy I know, but I’m pretty sure the fire-vision thing isn’t normal.”

 

“There were extenuating circumstances.” Matt agrees mildly. “I told you about the accident? My eyes were burned when some of the chemicals got in them. My vision was gone, but my other senses were… heightened.”

 

“So.” Foggy paraphrases slowly. “You got superpowers from being dosed with magical toxic waste. That’s… you know, what with the whole Avengers fiasco, that’s actually surprisingly believable.” Matt smiles sheepishly.

 

“They’re not really _super_ powers. I can just do some things a little better. It’s like turning the volume up, not getting a new stereo.” Foggy nods, trying to wrap his head around this. He’s not even as mad as he totally should be, partly because of the drugs and partly because holy shit, his best friend has superpowers!

 

 “Volume, huh… How about hearing?”

 

“ _Very_ good hearing.” Matt tells him dryly. “You have no idea.”

 

“No, actually, I don’t.” Foggy tells him pointedly. “So show me. What do you hear, right now?”

 

Matt hesitates, but when Foggy makes an encouraging sound, he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He’s quiet for a moment before he answers.

 

“I hear the clock on the wall. The hour hand just slipped down, and I know it was one when I left home so I think it must be two, now. There’s a cog in it that sticks—they’ll have to replace it soon. A nurse down the hall is tapping on her phone, regularly and in a rhythm. I think she’s playing a game, but she’s got the volume muted so I can’t tell which one. I’d guess Candy Crush. Uh, the equipment gives off a slight hum when it’s on, so I get that. I knew that the sheets were scratchy before I lay down, because of the sound they made on your skin. You sound healthy, your breathing and everything. It’s slow, because of the medicine, but it’s clear and easy.” He swallows before going on, voice falling to an uncertain whisper. “Your…your heartbeat’s a little faster than I’d like, but it’s nothing alarming.”

 

“Uh, it is actually _very_ alarming.” Foggy protests, pulling away as much as he can with Matt’s hand clenched in his hair. “Because it implies that not only are you listening to my _heartbeat,_ but also that you’ve listened to my _heartbeat_ so much in the past that you have expectations about how fast it should be. My _heartbeat,_ Matt.”

 

“It’s not like I can turn it off!” Matt protests weakly. “We spend all our time together. It’s like a soundtrack—I’m just used to it. It sticks in my head.”

 

“So you don’t listen to it on purpose?” Foggy checks, and Matt makes this little tiny micro-expression of panic that Foggy wouldn’t have seen at all, had Matt’s face not been within inches of his own.

 

“No.” Matt says, but it sounds more like a question. “That would be creepy.”

 

“It would be incredibly creepy.” Foggy agrees solemnly. Seeing Matt’s face fall, he adds with a tentative smile, “But, you know, also a little flattering. And cool. It would be pretty cool.”

 

It’s an olive branch, one he’s offering because this is probably even more uncomfortable for Matt than it is for Foggy. And even though the heartbeat thing is extremely, super weird right now, Foggy is pretty sure he can get used to it. Eventually. It’s just like Matt’s preference for Pepsi over Coke—it’s a quirk, a minor source of teasing with no real heat. It’ll be fine.  Baby steps.

 

“That’s how I found your room.” Matt confides proudly. “I followed your heartbeat through the building.”

 

“Um.”

 

Well, apparently Matt Murdock thinks baby steps are for pussies.

 

“You could—you can? There are maybe two hundred hundred people in this building, Matt. Are you telling me that you can— _Jesus_.” Matt’s expression crumples in dismay.

 

“Too much?” He asks, and then immediately berates himself, “Of course it was too much, what was I thinking?” He bites his lip. “Sorry. You could pretend I never said that.” He offers hopefully.

 

For a moment Foggy wants to say yes. A part of him wants to say, ‘let’s just extend that statement to cover all of tonight, because I’m not ready, I’m not okay, I’m not _insured_ for this, Matt’. But Matt’s biting his (stupid, full, red) lip, and he looks like a beaten stray, all puppy eyes and hangdog expression.

 

Stupid, cute little bastard.

 

“No, it’s… fine.” Foggy says, and he turns the word around in his mind. Is it fine? He’s still shaken from finding out everything else that’s been going on. If he weren’t freaking about Matt’s masked hobbies at the same time, would this bother him as much? If it was just Matt, Matt Murdock his dorky friend, saying that he liked listening to Foggy’s heartbeat—

 

Nope, still weird. Try substitution. For Matt it’s old news. He’s been listening to Foggy’s heart since they met. It’s innocuous to him, like knowing someone’s favorite song, or what they like in their coffee, or what kind of perfume they—

 

“Oh my god, can you smell me?” Matt goes very still. That’s all the answer Foggy really needs, but he’s sort of hoping he’s reading the situation wrong. Enhanced senses, Jesus.

 

“Do you want me to lie?” Matt asks, so softly Foggy can barely hear it, even this close. He sounds tiny, desperate. “I can lie this time, so much better. I promise.”

 

“No.” Foggy answers immediately. That’s not even an option. “No, no more lying. I just… I need a second to process. I don’t smell… _bad_ , do I?”

 

“ _God, no_.” Matt breathes, before flushing bright red and clearing his throat. “I mean, no, you’re fine. Good. Normal.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy says doubtfully. Truthfully, as surreal as this conversation has been, he’s sort of bizarrely pleased that apparently he smells good to a super-sniffer like Matt. That’s got to be a compliment, right? And it’s not _that_ weird. Maybe. If you tilt your head and squint while being incredibly drunk. “So my shampoo isn’t offensive? Because, I mean, peaches and cream might not be everyone’s idea of a good time.”

 

“No, I. Like it.” Matt grits out, looking like he’s hating himself more and more with every word he says. He’s smiling, but it looks more like a grimace. “It’s nice. It doesn’t hurt my head. Your cologne is very nice too.” Matt’s says _nice_ both times after a nervous little pause, like he’s trying to find the least alarming word. “I was always planning on asking you what it was, because it’s the only one I’ve ever found that didn’t give me a headache. It’s interesting, sort of sweet, sort of spicy. It’s. Nice. What brand is it?” Matt begins talking faster at the end, obviously grateful for finding a marginally safer topic where he can be the one asking the questions.

 

Foggy blinks at him.

 

“I don’t wear cologne.”

 

“Oh.” Matt says dumbly, and then, when the implication of that particular statement seeps in for both of them, “Oh!”

 

“Oh.” Foggy echoes faintly.

 

Matt looks mortified, pulling back and actually managing to almost completely untangle himself before Foggy pulls him back in. Matt goes stiff, doesn’t let himself get dragged back down completely. He stays sitting up, but he graciously allows Foggy to keep a hand wrapped around his wrist. “So. Sweet and spicy, huh? You sure you're not talking about chicken?”

 

“Shut up.” Matt groans, and his face is still red but he doesn’t look like he’s about to go perform hara-kiri, so it’s a start. Having Matt so wrong-footed is actually doing wonders for Foggy’s own balance. This is normal, he and Matt teasing each other whenever they get the chance. Sure, it’s about Foggy’s _smell,_ which Foggy honestly did not expect to be a topic of conversation, ever, let alone one of teasing, but still.

 

Also, apparently Matt thought Eau de Foggy was literally good enough to be bottled, which is pretty damn gratifying.

 

“So, sight, hearing, smell… that leaves touch and taste, right?” He points out. “You said you could hear the sheets, so touching them must be killing you.” He snaps his free hand’s fingers. “Oh, _that’s_ why you have silk sheets. I thought you were just being a pampered princess, or trying to impress your lady friends. But that’s probably actually a necessity for you, huh?”

 

Matt nods slowly, running a finger along the rough material of the hospital-issued blankets.

 

“It’s pretty bad.” He admits. “They don’t smell right either, like dirty dish water and antiseptic.”

 

“Um, ew.” Foggy eyes the blanket covering his legs. “Help me get this off, we’ll both be the better for it.” Matt does, looking a little confused. As soon as it’s on the floor, Foggy grips back on tightly to Matt’s wrist. Honestly, he’s a little impressed the man didn’t make a run for it in the ten-second window. “So, okay, that’s four. Taste?” Matt doesn’t even pause this time, like he’s prepared this answer in advance.

 

“I can identify all the ingredients that go into a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” Matt offers, something surprisingly formal in his voice—like he’s answering an exam question for a particularly strict professor. “There’s corn syrup, and xanthan gum, and vanillin, and—“ He rattles off about another three dozen ingredients that sound like something grown in a mad scientist’s lab. When Matt finally stops, watching him expectantly, Foggy feels a stab of sympathy for this guy who sees the vanilla world in terms of vanillin byproducts.

 

“Do you ever let yourself actually taste the _ice cream,_ Matt _?_ ” Foggy asks him gently. “That’s kind of the point of ice cream—you lick it, and it’s sweet and creamy and melts on your tongue, and yeah, maybe you know it’s bad for you but that just makes it so much better. You just savor it and enjoy the ride, you know?”

 

“Mm.” Matt makes a strange, strangled sort of sound. When Foggy looks up at him, he sees Matt’s sort of staring blankly into the middle distance and he’s biting his lip. Hard. 

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Matt says. “Ice cream. Right.” He sounds a little dazed. “We should… ice cream.”

 

“Sure, as soon as we get out of here. You and me and a tub of vanilla. Maybe more than one. We can do a taste test, compare flavors. I want to see those special skills of yours for myself.” Matt makes another strangled sound. “Okay, you’re kind of freaking me out here.” He pokes an unresponsive Matt. “Matty?”

 

Matt kisses him.

 

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Matt sort of _lunges_ at him,and really with his apparent super Bat-Terminator senses he has no excuse when he ends up ramming his mouth into Foggy’s chin.

 

“Ow, fuck, what the hell—“ Foggy yelps. Matt ignores him and tries again, and this time he hits the target. Well, there’s not much Foggy can say to that, even if he did have use of his mouth. Foggy is stunned, just sort of lying there like a CPR dummy until Matt pulls back just far enough to hiss,

 

“Kiss me back, _now.”_ He leans back in without waiting for an answer, kissing fierce like it’s a battle and Murdocks do not lose battles. Ever.

 

“Mm-hmm-mm.” Foggy protests, although it’s not nearly as eloquent as he’d hoped. He pushes on Matt’s chest until finally the other man gives, pulling away again and breathing hard. Foggy’s sort of worried Matt will lunge again if he lets up, so he keeps his hand pressed firmly against Matt’s sternum and says firmly (really, more like gasps breathily), “What the hell was _that?”_

 

“I—“ All color seems to drain from Matt’s face. “I am so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you were just—and I—and _you_ —and… and _ice cream.”_

 

“Ice cream?” Matt nods, looking completely addled. “You decided that _ice cream_ was a legitimate excuse to jump me? Is that, like, a trigger phase for you as a super ninja sleeper agent? Or does ice cream just make you really horny?”

 

“No, _you_ make me really horny!” Matt blurts out, and then, a moment later, “And, you know, other things. Not in a shallow way or anything.”

 

“Is it even possible for you to be shallow?” Foggy asks absently. “I mean, it’s not like you can judge a book by its cover."

 

“I’m just as prone as others are to being dazzled, Foggy.” Matt tells him softly. “Just by different things. I told you, you’re bright. You’re like a star.”

 

“Oh.” Foggy wonders if he gets brighter when he’s blushing. “But this is not you just being dazzled. Either by me or by ice cream?” Matt shakes his head. “And you want to make out with _me,_ for unshallow reasons?”

 

“Very unshallow.” Matt agrees solemnly. “Rather deep, actually. It feels like I’m drowning, sometimes.” He murmurs, and he closes his eyes and takes a breath like he’s trying to make sure he still can. Foggy swallows.

 

“That’s… good? I mean, drowning’s not good, but I get the idea you’re trying to convey. Mostly because, you know, I feel that way around you too. Like, all the time.”

 

“Oh.” Matt says, echoing Foggy’s earlier sentiment. “So, you…” He gestures between the two of them vaguely, and Foggy nods. His face feels like it’s on fire, he’s blushing so badly.

 

“Want to make out with you for totally unshallow reasons? Yep.” He agrees, trying to nonchalant and landing somewhere closer to helium-filled. “Early and often.”

 

Matt furrows his brow, frowning.

 

“But if you wanted...if you want me too, why didn’t you kiss me back?” He sounds small when he says it, hurt clear in his voice. “I thought…”

 

“No, Matty, no. I totally wanted to kiss you back.” Foggy assures him quickly. “It’s just, you know. You sort of head-butted me without warning and then tried to suck my soul out through my mouth like a Dementor. So, your intentions were a little unclear.”

 

“So if I _told_ you that I wanted to kiss you, you would say…?” Matt leads carefully, and the fact that he sounds like he’s not sure what Foggy’s answer will be is just ridiculous. Foggy huffs.

 

“I would say that it took you long enough, Murdock, and to actually aim this time.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Matt beams, and then he just sort of sits there, beaming, and does nothing else. Foggy allows this for close to a minute before sighing gustily. 

 

“And then, when you completely failed to take a hint, I would do this.” He snags a hand in Matt’s hair and pulls him down. Foggy’s nervous as hell, despite his bravado, and he’s so insanely grateful that he actually hits Matt’s lips on the first try (and doesn’t head-butt Matt’s chin in the attempt) that he almost forgets to do the whole kissing thing.

 

But he remembers. Oh, does he remember.

Matt makes a small sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a yelp and a groan, and then he relaxes into the kiss with a sigh.

 

Foggy slowly discovers his guilty fantasies about Matt’s kissing technique were way off base. He thought Matt would be fantastic, and instead Matt’s _mind-blowing,_ wet and hot and sweet as sin.

 

He wonders vaguely if Matt’s super senses mean enhanced tongue reflexes, because it is like they’re playing an Olympic sport here, seriously. Tonsil hockey, gold medal goes to Matt Murdock. And then Matt runs a gentle hand down the side of Foggy’s face, cupping his cheek, and he does a happy little hum thing that sounds sort of like Foggy’s name. After that, Foggy decides that wondering is a waste of his brain cells.

 

Matt pulls back for a moment, but only long enough to shift so that he’s straddling Foggy’s hips before swooping back in. He sighs when he licks back into Foggy’s mouth, like he’s a weary traveler come home after a long journey, even though he’s only been gone a second or two.

 

Foggy moves the hand he’d been wrapping around Matt’s wrist so that he can weave their fingers together, and when he squeezes Matt squeezes back and tilts his head so that they can move together more easily. It’s all so good, very good, very _very_ good, that it takes Foggy a moment to place the sound of heels clicking down the hall.

 

“Nurse!” He hisses to Matt, who gives him a wide-eyed look and only just manages to fling himself off the bed before the door’s opening and the light’s clicking on.

 

“You alright, hon?” The woman, a tired but friendly-looking woman of middling age, asks, leaning against the doorway. “Your heartbeat was going a mile a minute.”

 

“You can hear my heartbeat?” Foggy gapes at her, because how many people here have freaky super Foggy-heartbeat-reading senses? The nurse points towards the monitor display next to his bed, looking amused. Sure enough, it’s on mute, but Foggy can see that his heart’s going like a jackrabbit’s, the jagged spiking lines looking like a roller coaster’s track. Roller coaster. This whole night has been a roller coaster.

 

“Pain?” The nurse asks sympathetically, and Foggy realizes he’s been quiet too long. “You’re about due for another dose anyway.” She looks like she’s about to step further into the room, which means that in about a second she’s going to find Matt sprawled out on the floor and looking shady as a parasol in summer.

 

“No!” He yelps, then clears his throat and tries again. “No pain, nope. Just a dream. Dream, that’s what it was.”

 

The nurse eyes him worriedly.

 

“A nightmare? We’ve been getting a fair few of those tonight, what with all the injured brought in from the bombings.” She scowls. “I hope they catch that masked madman and string him up.”

 

It’s such a jarring thing to hear from the mild-mannered nurse that Foggy physically recoils. The nurse sees it and misinterprets, raising a hand to cover her mouth in apology.

 

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I’ve made it worse, haven’t I?” She gives Foggy a small smile. “All I meant was that you’re not the only one. I can get you something to help you get to sleep.”

 

“No, I’m okay.” Foggy says, feeling like he’s on autopilot. His mind just keeps getting stuck on the phrase ‘catch him and string him up’. It hits him for the first time that to so many other people, Matt’s not _Matt;_ he’s the ‘masked madman’. Hell, he was the masked madman to Foggy too, until a few minutes ago.

 

People are going to hate him, Foggy thinks numbly. They’re going to hate Matt, and they’re going to try to hurt him. ‘String him up’, he thinks. Perfectly nice people like this pleasantly frumpy nurse want to string him up—what about the people who aren’t so nice? What about the cops whose buddies Matt beat up, or the innumerable criminals who’ve made Hell’s Kitchen their home, and who are probably _actually_ the ones behind these bombings? What if they don’t want Matt stealing the credit? What if, what if, what if—

 

“Honey?” The nurse asks, concerned.

 

He has to keep Matt safe. Starting now, he’s going to keep Matt safe.

 

“I’m really fine.” He says, smiling at her in the way that actually managed to impress Marci once upon a time. It’s his special smile; he only takes it out and dusts it off for special occasions. “I bet I can get to sleep again in a heartbeat, no problem.”

 

His Matt Smile is brighter, but that one isn’t for public viewing.

 

The nurse blinks.

 

“Well.” She says, a little faint, and Foggy grins wider. Oh, yeah. He’s still got it. “If you’re sure… I have to do your vitals in about an hour, but I suppose you could try to sneak in a little cat nap before then.”

 

“Yes, absolutely.” Foggy agrees swiftly. “Sounds good. See you in an hour. Can’t wait.” The nurse smiles at him, a little coy. Apparently his smile worked a little too well.

 

After a tittering laugh and a playful warning to behave, the nurse leaves. Foggy smiles stiffly after her until the sound of her heels finally disappears. He sighs and lets his head fall back onto the pillow.

 

“I feel like I’m back in high school, getting caught fumbling around in the broom closet.” He says to the room at large, chuckling.

 

Matt doesn’t answer.

 

Foggy sits up and leans over the side of the bed to check on Matt, who still hasn’t gotten up.

 

Matt’s staring at the ceiling, and his face is blank and pale.

 

“Matt?” Foggy asks, mirth fading at Matt’s expression. “Hey, what’s up? You didn’t hit your head, did you? Because that would kind of put a damper on fun future activities.”

 

“I can’t do this.” Matt murmurs, sounding numb. He turns his head a little to look towards Foggy. “I can’t do this to you.”

 

“Do what?” Foggy asks warily. He knows that voice. It’s the Matt Martyr Mumble. It does not mean good things, either for Matt's health or Foggy's sanity. Matt blinks rapidly, eyes bright.

 

“I can’t stop.” He begins haltingly. “I can’t stop doing… what I do. And it will hurt you. I won’t be there when I should, and when I’m not there you’ll know where I am, and you’ll hate it. If anyone, _anyone_ finds out about me and what you mean to me, they’ll come after you. They’ll use you to get to me, and you’ll get _hurt_ , and I can’t Foggy. I _can’t.”_

 

Foggy takes a moment to breathe, counting to ten. Matt can’t help it, he thinks. Matt’s got to save the world, and he’s not doing it right unless he’s making himself miserable in the process. Yelling will not do any good here.

 

“Get back on the bed, Matt.” Matt doesn’t move. “I _will_ climb down onto the floor if I have to, because we are going to have this conversation, and I want to be hugging you during it so you can’t escape.”

 

He sees Matt’s hands jerk a little like he’s already reaching for the hug, mouth thinning and eyes unsure. Close, so close, but he’s not quite there yet. Foggy sighs and shifts a little closer.

 

“Please, Matt? I’m cold.” It’s not just shameless emotional manipulation. Foggy really is cold; the hospital’s blasting the air conditioning and his blanket is still on the floor where Matt threw it. It is _mostly_ shameless emotional manipulation though.

 

Matt closes his eyes briefly, pained, and then slowly pushes himself to his feet. He moves forward and Foggy shifts again so Matt can climb back into the bed. Matt doesn’t lie down again, so neither does Foggy. He moves so that he can look at Matt face to face, and then he reaches out.

 

Matt’s freezing, Foggy notices when he touches Matt’s hand. Of course he is; he’s been lying on the hard, cold floor for ages. Foggy begins rubbing Matt’s hand in his own, trying to get some of the heat back into it.

 

“Matt.” He says, keeping hid tone carefully even while he works. “I get hurt, even when you’re not around. I am currently in the _hospital_ , hurt, and it is not your fault." Matt shakes his head, but Foggy ignores him. "I’ll know where you’re going at night anyway, and you’re right—I’ll be worried sick. But I’d rather have you climb back into bed with me afterwards so I know you’re alright, and I can _stop_ worrying.”

 

He switches hands before continuing. He takes another deep breath. He doesn’t want to say this part. It will hurt Matt, there’s no way it won’t hurt Matt, but Foggy’s got to say it anyway because Matt needs to _understand._ “And yeah, if anyone finds out, we’ll both be in trouble, but we’re already partners and close friends; I’d be a target anyway. If I’m going to be putting my life in danger, I would really prefer to enjoy it while I have the chance.”

 

Matt makes a little, wounded noise.

 

“Don’t say things like that. You’re not going to d—“ He stops, shudders. “I won’t let you…” He can’t seem to finish. Foggy sighs.

 

“So don’t.” He says bluntly. “Stay with me, keep me safe.” He swallows. “Keep me _happy_ , Matt. I’ll do the same, I promise. I’ll try so hard to make you happy.”

 

 _And safe,_ he doesn’t say. _I would do anything to keep you safe. I would die for you, and I think I might have to._ But Matt can never, never know that.

 

“You already make me happy.” Matt whispers, anguished. “I can’t ask you for more. It’s… I’m greedy. I want more. I want everything.” He exhales shakily. “More than you can afford to give.”

 

Foggy looks up at him, watchful. Matt’s staring off into space again, and he looks like he’s at the gallows and the noose is around his neck. He’s just waiting for the drop.

 

“I gave you good dreams, didn’t I?" Foggy tries, and Matt swallows hard, but he nods. "I can give you more, every night, anything you want.” Foggy takes a deep, shaking breath, pressing Matt’s hand to his chest. “I can give you my…my _heartbeat.”_ He leans closer so that he can whisper into Matt's ear, feels Matt shudder. “I can give those things to you, Matt, and I can give you everything else too. I can give them to you, but you have to _take_ them.”

 

Matt's waiting for the drop, so Foggy gives it to him. He lets Matt’s hand fall, lets Matt _go_ , and holds out his own instead. It’s shaking.

 

Matt stares down at it for a moment. His face is unreadable, and Foggy holds his breath.

 

There is silence. Only silence. Foggy hears the clock ticking, and he hears the little pauses and stutters in the rhythm. A cog out of place, Matt had said. Something that isn’t quite working right anymore, stumbling along and doing the best it can. But you can fix a clock. You can give it new pieces, and it will work again. You can fix it.

 

 _Come on, you bastard,_ he thinks fiercely. _Take it. Be selfish for once in your life and take what you want._

 

Matt takes Foggy’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a conundrum that only occurred to me after I finished this--would Matt actually have plaster in his hair? I mean, he was wearing a mask, but he took a lot of hits and a lot of things blew up in his face. I feel like some of that could have gotten under the mask. Plus, it's dramatic, which is my bread and butter.
> 
> Also, Matt's super senses make my life happy. He's sort of a creeper about them, even in canon.
> 
> Also also: Tactile or Braille watches are a thing. Look it up--they are seriously awesome. Very cool.


End file.
